Repetition
by Shipperwolf
Summary: They were so close, and yet so far. She wouldn't give up. Not until he opened that door. 3x06, spoilers. Oneshot.


**Had a random urge to get inside Carol's head as she waited for Daryl and Co. to come open that door.**

**Just can't get enough feels out about this scene, I suppose! (And who can blame me?)**

**I disclaim, blah blah etc...**

**Please review with thoughts and such!**

* * *

Footsteps. She heard them. Approaching quickly but cautiously.

Voices. People. Not Walkers….

Carol jerked to attention in the confines of the dank, dark closet, the recognition of humans, of her _group_, just on the other side of the blocked metal door fueling another attempt to kick it open. With a right leg that literally felt like Jello, she nudged at the door and found the resistance of a body that had fallen in front of it.

She'd heard someone flying down the halls earlier, guttural shouts that sounded suspiciously like Rick. The moans of the small pack of Walkers that still hovered near her hiding place, sniffing her out.

She just barely recognized the voice of Oscar as the footsteps stopped outside the door.

"Check it out, man."

She'd run so long, so hard. Killed a few on the way and lost her knife to a poor swing at another's face. She couldn't remember how long she'd been sitting in the tiny space, waiting, but she had long since lost her energy. She was thirsty, sleepy and yet restless...

Her skin hurt and her muscles had decided they really didn't feel like responding to her brain anymore.

"There's probably just one or two of em'…"

_Daryl_.

The voice was unmistakable.

She nudged the door again, felt a weight press back slightly.

"Don't look like they got much fight…."

God, no….

Her throat was dry but as a moment of silence permeated the hall she felt a groan escape it. He not only assumed her a Walker but was going to move on without killing it?

"They ain't goin' nowhere; we'll take care of it on our way back…"

_No, Daryl! Take care of it __now__._

Her mouth opened to say it aloud….to say his name, call out to him…

But nothing came. Her mind raced but her body ignored it. She was dehydrated, exhausted…

Losing the battle.

The footsteps moved away from the door, and her foot pushed against it again.

And again.

She heard Daryl speaking, his voice growing more and more distant.

_Hurry back…_

She nudged again and prayed she didn't pass out before they returned.

* * *

Her foot was moving on instinct at this point. The toe of her shoe pressed into the metal, the only part of her body moving. She breathed deep. Willed herself to do it again.

_Move your toes. Push the door. Breathe._

_Do it again._

Her head was rolling to the side when she heard gunshots down the hall, voices accompanying them. They jolted her awake just long enough to moan again. She blinked in the darkness, eyelids heavy and burning.

A headache was splitting her brain in two. Her gritty, filthy skin felt like it was coated in oil and set on fire. But her toes hurt the most.

As the footsteps made their way back she felt her head shift once, fall again toward her shoulder…

She whispered to herself, her voice gone, her body failing, but her mind still in the fight:

_Move your toes. Push the door. Breathe._

_Do it again._

_Do it again._

_Do it again._

So she did.

* * *

The voices were closer now…nearing the outside of the door again. She thought she recognized one….a young voice….Carl?

"You gonna get it?"

Daryl's not long after, much quieter than before…

"Yeah. Head on back."

_Move your toes._

She was seeing darkness now, a tunnel working its way into her thoughts. Closing in. Shutting her out.

God, she felt like she was dying…

_Push the door._

Her foot moved. The sound of the door creaking kept her from letting the tunnel deepen. The sound of pacing footsteps outside kept her from letting it close up. The sound of a soft curse, a slumping body, a strange metallic tap…

_Breathe._

The tap sounded again, clear, loud; not far. Not far. Just outside the door.

_Move your toes._

Another tap. Another curse. A sigh.

_Push the door._

Another tap. Another. Louder, faster, more aggressive. She knew it was him. In the deepening, darkening tunnel that was her failing consciousness, she knew…

_Breathe._

A sudden force shocked her senses, a loud crash of metal just beside her shooting adrenaline through her veins. He'd kicked the door.

_Move your toes._

Footsteps moved away. She allowed her pounding head to roll over again while every muscle in her body screamed "Wake up. Move. Wake up."

More steps, closer, fast, chaotic. A gruff exhale as the sound of a body being dragged had her wanting to smile.

_Push the door._

Light streamed in along with a sudden draft of cooler air. She felt both hit her face and the shadow cast over her body willed her to lift her head.

_Breathe_.

For the first time since she'd hidden away her eyes opened to something other than darkness. She looked up, caught his eyes. Breathed.

Breathed again.

When his hand reached out to brush fingers along her chin, she wanted to smile. She wanted to laugh. To reach out and grasp him, whisper a "thank you" into his ear.

But she only breathed.

As he put his knife (_her_ knife?) away and moved to a knee in front of her, she breathed.

As he slipped his arms underneath her body and pulled her against him, she breathed.

When he lifted her up with a grunt and a "Come on", she breathed.

It was all she could do, really. And she figured it was beyond enough for him. She was alive, and he had found her. When she got some water down her throat and found that long lost voice, she'd thank him proper.

For now, she was content to let her exhaustion have her…to dangle an arm behind his head and press her face into his shirt.

And breathe.


End file.
